


Postcards from the All Mighty Magneto

by orphan_account



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cherik - Freeform, Cute, Erik/Charles, Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, Postcards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:25:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1727684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who would've guessed that the all powerful, fugitive mutant Magneto would still find himself sending cheesy postcards to his long lost friend? Just a fluffy Cherik oneshot, post X-Men:DOFP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Postcards from the All Mighty Magneto

**Author's Note:**

> This was just total fluff. Although I really wish it would happen and Erik and Charles would become like secret lover penpals and nobody would find out until years later when they actually became official boyfriends and they were like, "SURPRISE, WE WERE TOGETHER THE WHOLE TIME IN OUR OWN CUTE WAY." But yeah. Hopefully this isn't too lame.

Erik wasn’t one for postcards. But then, who would ever guess that he would be? It wasn’t every day that the great and powerful Magneto stopped by a tourist shop to purchase a quaint little postcard. And yet, as he traveled through Italy, mostly just for the fun of it, he happened to see a brightly colored stand on the side of the street, tucked in with all the other vendors selling their wares, stocked with all sorts of flashy cards.

He would’ve kept walking, but one of the cards caught his eye. It was a little drawn portrait of two people sitting together in a patch of bright green grass, the Colosseum behind them. Goofy yellow letters spelt out, _per il mio amico_ on the front. Erik didn’t know Italian fluently, but he knew enough to register that the phrase went along the lines of “for my friend”. It reminded him of Charles. They had, after all, referred to each other as “my friend” for a while.

And so, silently cursing himself for falling prey to such stupid sentiment, Erik found himself slamming the postcard onto the checkout counter, waiting for the little old lady working there to see it. Erik wasn’t sure what he really planned to do with the postcard. Throw it away immediately after? Actually send it? Shove it into his bag and forget about it forever?

Before he could change his mind and put the thing back, the old woman had scanned it and was waiting for him to cough up 99 cents. With a begrudging sigh, Erik handed her a dollar and received his happy little postcard.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until he was in London, staying in a resort, that he decided to do something about the postcard. It was getting late, the setting sun sending streaks of pink and orange across the darkening sky. The Thames River was glittering with the reflection of the colors. Erik might’ve sat outside on his balcony to enjoy the view had the little, bright card not found its way to the top of his bag. He plucked it out of his suitcase, tempted to throw it off the balcony.

He wasn’t sure why he was so aggravated by such an innocent postcard. Most likely it was because he felt the incredible pressure to actually use it, and even worse, actually send it to Charles. Would it be such a bad thing to do so? The worst that would happen is Charles rip it up and throw it in the trash, no harm done. Gritting his teeth with frustration, Erik retrieved one of the cheap resort pens and sat down at the desk in the corner to start writing.

It took a while for him to recall the address of Charles’ mansion, and he wasn’t entirely sure if Charles would even be the one to receive it, since he wasn’t sure who worked at the new school he had opened. Nonetheless, he scrawled down the address and Charles’ name and tried to think of something to write. It couldn’t be something personal, that much was obvious. Postcards were impractical that way; they openly revealed anything written on them to the world.

He started it off with, ‘ _Dear Charles,_ ’ and then immediately hit a wall. He couldn’t think of what exactly to say. ‘ _I’m sorry I tried to take out the president and make a statement, but it had to be done_ ’? No, Charles would definitely throw the thing away then. ‘ _I know you’re probably still mad at me about going against the whole plan for the tenth time, but here’s a postcard._ ’ That was equally bad. ‘ _I hate to admit it, but I actually kind of miss you and our conversations and our chess games and the way we work together so well as a team and your smile and-’_ Now that was just over the top. Besides, since when did Erik like Charles’ smiles?

It took Erik a good while to form a statement. There wasn’t enough room on the postcard to write that much, so he had to limit it to a few sentences. It didn’t help that he’d never had the neatest handwriting, or grammar for that matter, so he hoped that Charles could at least read it. It was two in the morning by the time Erik went down to the lobby, hoping that one of the front desk attendants would be standing there. When nobody was, he rang the bell sitting on the counter, standing impatiently.

A bleary eyed teenager came out of the back, rubbing his eyes and looking grumpy. “I need you to mail this immediately,” Erik demanded, not the least bit sorry. The kid looked devastated as Erik handed him the cheesy postcard. “You want me to mail a postcard at two in the morning?” He asked, looking incredulous. Erik didn’t grace him with an answer, just turning on his heel and heading back upstairs. He figured he’d handled the situation exceptionally well.

 

* * *

 

Charles was in the middle of talking to Logan about some renovations to the mansion when Hank knocked on the door, a puzzled expression on his face. “What is it?” Logan asked, but Charles could already tell what it was just from a light sweep of Hank’s mind. “That’s awfully surprising,” he commented, ignoring Logan’s annoyed expression and wheeling himself over to Hank, taking the postcard from him.

“I didn’t read it, in case you were wondering. I know it’s personal, and frankly, that handwriting looked a bit hard to read,” Hank commented. Charles just nodded, waving him away absentmindedly as he studied the postcard. Logan shuffled over to Hank, still confused as to what was going on. “What is that? Charles gets gaudy postcards from secret admirers now?” Hank just shrugged. “It was from Erik. Don’t ask me why or how that happened.”

Charles couldn’t hide his own surprise at receiving anything from Erik. He’d figured Erik would be entirely gone for good until the next catastrophe arose. He first studied the outside of the card- _Per il mio amico?_ Charles had studied languages in school for years, but all he could translate out of it was “friend”. Reminding himself to look it up later, he turned the card over, revealing the familiar, scrawling handwriting of his old friend.

_‘Dear Charles. I know you won’t be expecting this from me- I didn’t expect to send you anything either. Nothing will change that we don’t see eye to eye on the subject of humans, not yet. But I still don’t want to be entirely apart for years and years. We have a connection, I know it. And since we can’t work together as mutants, maybe we can try to work together as just friends. Your friend, Erik.’_

He didn’t want to admit it, but Charles actually felt kind of happy at receiving it. He’d been angry at Erik, mostly disappointed at how he couldn’t just finally pull his act together, but there was no doubting that they made very good friends. He ignored Logan and Hank’s baffled expression as he smiled, wheeling himself to his desk and stowing the postcard in his drawer for very valuable items.

“Um, Professor, how are you going to send Erik a letter back, wherever he is?” Hank asked uncertainly, as Charles picked up a pen and paper and began to write. Charles looked up, confidence in his eyes. “He’ll write back again soon with more information, I’m sure of it.”

And, unsurprisingly, Erik did.

  

 


End file.
